Flo. O my lord, are we,
Whom love obligeth to the same allegiance,
Brought hither on these terms?
Dec. They're terms of honour,
And I yet never knew to frame excuse,
Where that begot the quarrel.
Flo. Yet methinks
We might have found another way to it.
We might have sought out danger, where the proud,
Insulting Moor profanes our holy places.
The noise of war had been no trouble then;
But now too much 'twill fright the gentle ear
Of her we both are vow'd to serve.
Dec. That love,
Which arms us both, bears witness that I had
Much rather have encounter'd lightning, than
Create the least distraction to her peace.
But since the vote of Arragon decrees
That my long service hath the justest claim
To challenge her regard, thus I must stand
Arm'd to make good the title.
Flo. This vain language
Scarce moves my pity. What desert can rise
So high to merit her? Were each short moment
O' th' longest-liv'd commander lengthen'd to
An age, and that exposed to dangers mighty,
As cowards frame them, can you think his service
Might challenge her regard? Like th' heavenly bounty,
She may distribute favour; but 'tis sin
To say our merits may pretend a title.
Dec. You talk, sir, like a courtier.
Flo. But, my lord,
You'll find a soldier in this arm which, strengthen'd
By such a cause, may level mountains high,
As those the giants (emblems of your thoughts)
Piled up to have scal'd heaven.
Dec. That must be
Decided by the sword: and if, my lord,
Our interview hath no more sober end
Than a dispute so froward, let us make
The trumpet drown the noise.
Flo. You shall not want
That music. But before we yielded up
Our reason unto fury, I desired
We might expostulate the ground of this
So fatal war, and bring you to that low
Obedience nature placed you in.
Dec. My ear attends you.